Monday
by cj2017
Summary: It had been a good day, right up to that point...
1. Chapter 1

**Title:**_** Monday**_

**Author:** cj2017

**Fandom:** _Rizzoli & Isles_

**Rating:** M

**Category: **Established R/I with a bit of everything else (and the kitchen sink chucked in for good measure!)

**Word Count:** Just shy of 6,000. This section a rather brief 1,300.

**Notes: **I got a bit of a plot-bunny in my head and this was the result. Keep an eye on the time-stamps to avoid any "_WTF?_" moments… ;-)

Thanks and love to feroxargentea for, well for everything really. Love also to laurel_hardy for making this sound less like it was written by a Brit. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own a thing. Please don't sue me.

**. . . . **

_**Monday **_**(1/3)**

**. . . .**

_**Monday: 6 p.m.**_

Late evening sunlight streamed through the glass in the mullioned window. Its heat had long since wilted the bouquet of lilies that had been placed directly in its path, and their sickly scent was mixing with the stench of clotted blood, making Jane Rizzoli regret the Junkyard dog she had eaten for lunch. Swallowing against the queasiness, she lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from her forehead.

"Fuckin' hotter than hell in here." Korsak's speech was brittle, all the moisture sucked from his mouth. She nodded in weary agreement and sent up a silent prayer of thanks that she fell on the side of the gender divide that wasn't obliged to wear a tie.

"Neighbors hear anything?" she asked. With a hand on Korsak's elbow, she guided him further into the shade of the hallway, where the floral scent lessened and the stink of loosened bowels and sweet copper became more pronounced.

"Aw, jeez." Korsak smacked his lips in disgust, looking as if he'd inadvertently chewed on the air and swallowed it down. Usually he bragged about the strength of his stomach to anyone who would listen but it appeared that even he had his limits. To cover his lapse, he snapped open his notepad and squinted at the scrawl of his own writing. "Mrs Mallory, next door, heard glass smashing at approximately four-fifteen p.m. and what sounded like a scream ten or so minutes later. Unfortunately for the vic, Judge Judy's verdict was on a knife-edge, and Mallory waited until the good Judge came down on the side of the plaintive before 911 logged a call at four thirty-seven p.m."

"Fuck me." The curse came out in a whisper, the heat and a terrible sense of futility instantly sapping all of Jane's anger. Maura had already told her that the victim's death hadn't been quick and hadn't been pretty. The eighty-nine-year-old woman had bled out from the stab wound in her gut while her neighbor had sat less than thirty yards away watching trash on the TV. "Mallory hear anything else?" Jane said, already knowing the answer but asking anyway. "Door shutting? Car? Someone leaving in a hurry?"

Korsak closed his notes. "Nothing. The scream, then nothing. First patrol was on scene four minutes after the call. Checked room to room, cleared the scene, and called the paramedics. Uniforms are canvassing the street but most folks round here work a nine-to-five."

"Yeah." Jane sighed, not liking where this was going. "Same M.O. as the West Roxbury job."

"Looks like," Korsak said. "Frost is already pulling the particulars on that fancy toy he insists on carrying about with him." He frowned at the very suggestion of interacting with such high-end technology.

Jane gave a short laugh before sobering abruptly. "Never thought I'd say this, but the first vic got lucky," she said. The seventy-three-year-old man with eyesight so poor he was registered disabled had come through his ordeal with severe facial injuries and a ransacked house.

"Sure did." Korsak glanced at the front door as a vehicle slowed to a stop at the roadside. "That'll be the meat wagon," he said, obviously eager to be back outside. He nodded at the staircase. "Maura still up there?"

"Yeah, she was just finishing the prelim." Jane wondered if he had given her enough of an excuse to go back up there herself. Maura would need to know the van had arrived and Jane would be perfectly within her rights to go and tell her. She quickly looked down at the parquet floor before Korsak could catch her grinning like some kind of demented idiot, but a rush of warm air and pollen told her that he had already opened the front door. When she turned toward it, he had his back to her and she allowed herself a small smile. Sweat had glued her shirt to her armpits, she was so thirsty that the inch of water in the victim's flower vase was starting to look appealing, and some fucking psycho was running around Boston's wealthier neighborhoods targeting their most vulnerable residents, but still the thought that Maura was a mere thirty-second stroll away from her was enough to make her smile. She could observe the autopsy, then they could meet back at Maura's, take a shower, _share_ a shower…

A dull thud made Jane blink. Momentarily disorientated, she checked the front door, but it was still open and clearly not the source of the noise.

"No, don't!"

Maura's voice, quickly followed by a scuffle of shoes across the wood: heels and something flatter, softer, like sneakers. Jane saw Korsak snap his head toward her, though she couldn't remember yelling for him. She was already moving, taking the stairs two at a time, that thirty-second stroll reduced to a frantic ten-second sprint. Her gun was in her hand, fingers slick and slippery around the metal. A door slammed, hard wood banging right back against the wall, and the tall man who was suddenly blocking her path regarded her with wide, frantic eyes. Jane raised her gun, her hands shaking, not afraid for herself but terrified of what the fresh blood dripping down his knife meant.

"Drop it." Her command came out calmly, prompting him to look down at his hand. He seemed surprised to find it coated in crimson.

"Count of three, I fucking mean it," she said, and something in her tone must have been enough of a warning because the knife clattered onto the stairs. "_Korsak!_"

"I got him." Korsak was right behind her, his breath puffing in her ear, his own mad chase up the stairs having taken its toll. "Go."

Jane shoved past the young man with the raised hands and the sniveling face, and ran. The first door was the bathroom, she remembered that as soon as she shouldered it. "Fuck."

The second door was wide open, proudly displaying the floor-to-ceiling floral print covering the walls. Everything was pink and garish except for the splash of blue on the floor where Maura was crouched. She looked up when she heard Jane approach and managed a faltering smile.

"Sorry, he scared me." She shook her head at her own understatement and struggled to stand, leaning over the gore-splattered corpse she had ended up sprawled across, and using the bed-frame to pull herself to her feet. Jane stepped forward to help her, grabbing her arm in a grip that she knew was far too tight, but that she could not ease off. Maura did nothing to protest, but just swayed slightly and looked down at the blue of her dress.

"Oh."

Jane followed her gaze. "Oh fuck. _Fuck_." The material was soaked with blood.

"No." Maura raised a hand toward Jane's face. "It's okay, sweetheart," she whispered. "It's okay, I don't think it's mine." She winced as if speaking had hurt her and dropped her hand to her abdomen. When she pulled it up to examine it, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Jane shook her head, watching the scarlet stain spread into the blue.

"No, no, no."

Maura's knees buckled. Jane lowered her onto the hard wood of the floor and screamed for someone to help them.

. . . .

TBC…

. . . .


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:**_** Monday**_

**Author:** cj2017

**Fandom:** _Rizzoli & Isles_

**Rating:** M

**Category: **Established R/I with abit of everything else (and the kitchen sink chucked in for good measure!)

**Word Count:** Just shy of 6,000. This section 2,700. I never said in part one, but the fic is complete and I hope to have it posted by the end of the week.

**Notes: **I got a bit of a plot-bunny in my head and this was the result. Keep an eye on the time-stamps to avoid any "_WTF?_" moments… ;-)

Thanks and love to feroxargentea for, well just for everything really. Love also to laurel_hardy for making this sound less like it was written by a Brit. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

Cheers to everyone who took the time to leave feedback on the first part. Reading the comments made for an extremely entertaining nightshift :-)

**Disclaimer:** Don't own a thing. Please don't sue me.

**. . . .**

_**Monday **_**(2/3)**

**. . . . **

_**Monday: 6 a.m.**_

Maura Isles was a morning person. She loved waking up to the sound of birdsong, with sunlight beginning to brighten the colors in her bedroom. She loved that first touch of heated water against her skin and her first sip of coffee. But most of all, she loved waking up next to Jane Rizzoli and spending a few precious minutes just watching her sleep.

Undisturbed, nightmare-free sleep smoothed all of the tension from Jane's face. It made her look younger, as if finally being able to rest had chiseled away years of accumulated torment. For the past few months, the only thing to wake Jane in the middle of the night had been the sound of Bass colliding with the furniture, and she had eventually learned to ignore even that.

"You watchin' me again?" Her voice husky with drowsiness, Jane spoke without opening her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Nope," Maura said casually, knowing damn well that she was busted. She leaned down and kissed Jane, and then shivered when she felt Jane work a hand beneath her nightshirt. "Ah, we really shouldn't. I have a meeting scheduled for eight-thirty."

Despite the feeble nature of Maura's protest, Jane nodded sagely. "Oh, you have a meeting?" Her hand moved lower, gliding into the fly of Maura's boxers. "God, I knew there was a reason I got you wearing these." She teased her fingers into the slick warmth she found there, and Maura whimpered, any thought of her morning routine utterly abandoned. "I won't make you late," Jane murmured, her free hand busy unfastening Maura's shirt. She paused as if reconsidering. "Well, not by much…"

. . . .

_**8.15 a.m.**_

They met again in the parking lot, two colleagues coincidentally arriving at work within minutes of each other. Jane held the stairwell door for Maura and hoped the images from the security cameras weren't detailed enough to pick out the flush coloring Maura's cheeks.

"Did you have a pleasant weekend, Doctor Isles?" she asked innocently as they stood there side by side waiting for the elevator.

"Oh well, you know." Playing along, Maura tilted her head, making a show of trying to remember. "It was quite a quiet one, really."

"Hmm." Jane raised a skeptical eyebrow; there had been plenty of occasions over the weekend when Maura had been anything but quiet.

A sharp ping announced the arrival of the elevator and they stepped into the empty car. As soon as the doors shut, Jane leaned into Maura and kissed her forehead. "Meet you for lunch?"

"Should be free about one."

The elevator slowed and jolted to a stop at Jane's floor. "Sorry I made you late," she said.

Maura laughed. "No, you're not."

"No, I'm not," Jane conceded easily. "I'll see you at one."

. . . .

_**8.35 a.m.**_

"Morning." Jane set the coffee in front of Frost before crossing to her own desk.

"Oh hey, thanks," Frost said, but his attention was fixed on his computer and he took a mouthful of the drink without ever having looked at the cup. "Got the med reports back from the home invasion in West Roxbury. You should have a copy on your desktop."

Jane waited for her log-in details to limp past the server's security checks. The office was filling up, and shouted greetings and insults were flying between the desks. The crappy and intermittently defunct air conditioning had been fixed over the weekend and it was enthusiastically making up for lost time by dispersing the smells of coffee and cheap cologne throughout the open-plan room. Trying her best to breathe shallowly, Jane clicked on the file marked _W. Roxbury_.

"Jesus Christ."

The face of the seventy-three-year-old victim had been beaten to a pulp, swelling and fractures distorting his features to render him barely recognizable as human. Close-up shots of his hands focused on the slashes across his palms and fingers where he had tried to defend himself. She could only imagine the horror of fighting an assailant she was unable to see. Her appetite ruined, she pushed her coffee aside and rocked back in her chair.

"Right," she said. "Where do we start?"

. . . .

_**11.00 a.m.**_

"Did you do something different to your hair, Rizzoli?"

Jane closed her eyes slowly. "Please fuck off back to whatever hole you crawled out of, Crowe."

"No, seriously. Did you brush it or something? You look different." He kicked her chair as if to emphasize his point, a typical bully's ploy to get attention. "Almost human," he continued. "It's fucking weird."

Jane shrugged, gave him a smile she hoped would be enigmatic enough to drive him absolutely fucking nuts, and said nothing. He frowned at her, his toe tapping out a frustrated rhythm against her chair, and then stalked off toward his desk.

Frost sniggered as he watched Crowe leave. "He's right about something, though," he said in an undertone. "You do look different."

"Yeah?" Jane said. "Hell, Frost, maybe I'm just happy."

. . . .

_**13.10 p.m. **_

"A Junkyard Dog?" Maura tried very hard not to convey her disappointment. For reasons perhaps best left unmentioned in their current surroundings, she had worked up a huge appetite, and had been hoping for a lunch that at least required the use of proper cutlery.

With a grin, Jane took her arm and ushered her over the threshold of Spike's.

"Trust me, Maura. You'll love it."

Maura had her doubts, but Jane was obviously thrilled by her choice of venue and the deal was that they alternated who picked where to eat. Having so far introduced Jane to the delights of apple-arugula wraps and freshly landed swordfish, Maura accepted that turn about was probably fair play.

The lunchtime rush was in full flow at Spike's but most people were choosing to take their food out into the blazing sunshine. Maura squeezed into a vacant booth and surreptitiously wiped the glossy red tabletop with a napkin as Jane ordered their lunch.

"Okay, 57 T-Bird for you," Jane set the hot dog down and pushed onto the seat in front of Maura, "and a Junkyard Dog for me. Fries are to share."

"'A 57 T-Bird'," Maura repeated, eyeing the cheese-smothered dog with suspicion.

"Honey mustard and melted Swiss. Thought it might be daintier than mine," Jane explained around a mouthful.

"And yours is…?"

"Mustard, tomato, pickle, hot pepper rings, and chopped scallions."

Jane looked so contented that Maura couldn't help but smile at her.

"Okay, here goes." Maura bit into her hot dog and chewed it cautiously. "Oh," she said. "Oh, that's really good!"

Jane waggled a fry at her. "I hate to say 'I told you so'…"

"Can I try yours?" Maura's attempt to cleanse her palate with root beer was largely unsuccessful.

"Be my guest," Jane said, but her eyes widened when she saw how big a bite Maura had taken. "Would you like to keep that, now you've eaten most of it?"

Maura nodded. "I think I like yours best."

Leaning close, Jane caught a smear of mustard on Maura's chin. "Can't believe you stole my lunch."

Maura took Jane's hand and carefully licked the mustard from her finger. "What if I promise to make it up to you later?"

Jane stared at Maura, her mouth slightly open, her breath coming fast and short. Without saying a word, she quickly pushed both sodas and all of the food right in front of Maura.

Unable to keep her face straight, Maura took pity on her, releasing her finger and redistributing their lunch. She cut each hot dog in half and rearranged them on their plates.

About to pick up a fry, Jane hesitated. "This mean you're gonna renege on your promise?"

"One thing you should know about me, Jane," Maura said with the utmost sincerity, "I never renege on a promise."

. . . .

_**4.30 p.m.**_

Arthur Tremont fumbled for his daughter's hand and held onto it as tightly as his sutures and dressings would allow. Late the previous night, surgeons had inserted a metal plate to hold one side of his face together, and the morphine he had been given post-operatively was making his responses to Jane's questions hesitant and slurred.

"He sounded young, mean. Talked fast, I couldn't…" Tremont looked in Jane's direction, his eyes searching but not seeing. "He gave me no time. He would ask me for money but didn't wait for an answer, he just…" Tremont's voice trailed into nothing and he lifted a trembling hand toward his face.

"It's okay, sir," Jane said quietly. "You take all the time you need now."

He nodded once, his shoulders straightening as he steeled himself to continue. "He beat me even after he had found what he wanted. Then he put a knife to my throat and told me he would come back to 'finish me off' if I told anyone."

At his side, Tremont's daughter stifled a sob, tears running unheeded down her cheeks.

"Did you get a sense of his height or build, sir?" Jane looked at her notes with a mounting feeling of hopelessness.

"Maybe slightly taller than me. When he spoke, his breath was here." Tremont indicated his temple. "Bad breath too, he smelled bitter, unwashed."

"Good, that's really good, sir." She scribbled a rough estimate of the assailant's height and pushed her chair back from the bedside, aware she had probably gotten as much as she could, given the circumstances. "I'm going to let you get some rest now. I'll come back and speak to you again in a couple of days, but in the meantime if you remember anything else, no matter how insignificant you might think it, just give me a call." His daughter accepted a card with the contact details on it and Jane rested her hand over Tremont's. "You take it easy, sir."

He nodded in acknowledgment and she left the room, the bustle and noise of the hospital corridor jarring after so long in the presence of the Tremonts' dignified grief. She had almost reached the main entrance when her cell phone rang.

"Rizzoli."

"It's Frost. I think we've got another one."

. . . .

_**5.30 p.m.**_

"T.O.D.?"

Maura looked up in response to Jane's terse question and Jane immediately opened her hands in apology.

"I know, I know. Too soon to tell."

Maura nodded with reluctance, wishing she could take away all the uncertainties and give Jane the absolutes she so desperately needed.

"She didn't die instantly, I can tell you that much. She would have been immediately incapacitated, but she struggled. Look, here." Maura pointed to a small bloody handprint on the pink bed linen. Just above it was a second, less distinct one, as if the woman had grasped it in an attempt to stand.

"So this son of a bitch could have stabbed her and then gone on to wreck the house as she lay there bleeding out?"

"It's possible. She was asystolic when the paramedics arrived, pupils fixed and dilated, but there was no rigor or hypostasis present."

Jane was turning slowly, looking at the floor. "God, the prints are a fucking mess." There were bloody footprints all over the wooden floor, overlapping and smeared where the assailant had tracked back and forth to search the bedroom.

"Are they any better downstairs?" Placing her gloved hands on either side of the single abdominal wound, Maura exerted a gentle pressure and watched the blood well up to fill the gaping hole. She crinkled her nose at the smell.

"Some," Jane said absently, staring at the blood. "Fainter, must've faded as he went from room to room. Christ, what is that smell?"

"Perforated bowel." Maura lifted her hand and held her index finger and thumb two inches apart. "Blade diameter," she said. "Looks to be non-serrated but I can't—"

"—Say for sure until you get her on the table," Jane finished the sentence for her, getting an indulgent smile in return. "You about done here?"

"Pretty much. I just need to get these off," Maura indicated her gloves, "and make some notes. I can do the autopsy tonight." She lowered her voice. "I'm guessing you're going to be here a while."

"Yeah, looks like. Wouldn't mind sitting in on the autopsy. Give me a call when you're set?"

"Of course."

"I'll go see if Korsak got anything from the neighbor," Jane said, but she stood there until Maura looked up at her, slightly puzzled.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, it's nothing." Jane grinned. "You just look lovely in that dress, that's all."

"I'm kneeling by a corpse, Jane."

"Well, yes, but you're doing it beautifully," Jane told her, and blew her a kiss before leaving the room.

. . . .

_**6.02 p.m.**_

Maura snapped the clasps down to lock her briefcase. Outside in the street, she heard van doors opening and then the familiar sound of a gurney being slid out. She stretched her cramped muscles as she straightened, glad that for an hour or so at least she could delegate the care of the victim to someone else. The bedroom was stifling, its stagnant air bordering on claustrophobic. She longed for a bottle of water, a thorough wash, and the pleasant cool of her morgue.

She was reaching for her briefcase when a muffled thump to her left made her jump. She turned toward the sound, which seemed to have come from within a large oak closet. The unit loomed over the bedroom, its size dominating the length of the wall, one of its doors slightly ajar. Fear suddenly twisted inside her, preventing her from moving any closer. As she drew in a breath to call for Jane, the closet door abruptly swung open.

"Oh God."

A young male in dark jeans and a tattered jacket stood in front of her. She immediately raised her hands to show him she was unarmed, but he lunged toward her, intent only on escape.

"No, don't!"

Without warning his hand came up, punching hard into the center of her abdomen. The force of the blow made her stagger and she slipped on the thick clots of blood at her feet, falling heavily onto the body. The bedroom door smacked against the wall. Winded, gasping for breath, Maura stayed huddled where she had landed, making herself as small a target as she possibly could. Seconds later, Jane's voice sounded from the stairs, clear and authoritative, and Maura shuddered, thinking of the wild look in the man's eyes. There was a strange rattle of metal against wood before Korsak confirmed the man's capitulation in a single, clipped sentence. She took a deep breath of relief, and then tried to move before Jane came to find her.

"Sorry, he scared me." She smiled as Jane entered the room, but was finding it more difficult to stand than she would have expected. Her legs felt wobbly and a sharp pain shot through her abdomen; she wondered at how hard he must have hit her. When she looked down, she saw blood coating the front of her dress.

"Oh."

Jane had seen the blood too. She was cursing, panic stark on her face. Maura reached a hand to her, trying to reassure her.

"It's okay, sweetheart. It's okay, I don't think it's mine." Pain rippled through her again and she instinctively tried to ease it by pressing her fingers where it burned. They slid into a deep wound and she stared at the blood on them, not really comprehending that it was hers. Dimly, she saw Jane shake her head, heard her chanting "no" over and over, but Maura couldn't do anything to reassure her this time. She couldn't do anything at all.

. . . .

TBC…

. . . .


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:**_** Monday**_

**Author:** cj2017

**Fandom:** _Rizzoli & Isles_

**Rating:** R

**Category: **Established R/I with abit of everything else (and the kitchen sink chucked in for good measure!)

**Word Count:** Just shy of 6,000. This part 2,200.

**Notes: **I got a bit of a plot-bunny in my head and this was the result. Keep an eye on the time-stamps to avoid any "_WTF?_" moments… ;-)

Thanks and love to feroxargentea for, well just for everything really. Love also to laurel_hardy for making this sound less like it was written by a Brit. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

A big thank you to everyone who's taken the time to leave feedback. As always, it's very much appreciated.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own a thing. Please don't sue me.

**. . . . **

_**Monday **_**(3/3)**

**. . . .**

_**6.07 p.m.**_

"Where the fuck are the medics?" Jane spoke through gritted teeth, her anger the only thing stopping her from completely falling to pieces.

"Three minutes," Korsak said, folding his jacket and pushing it beneath Maura's head as if that would make a fucking difference.

"I need something thicker. Fuck. A towel or something." Jane's hands were soaked with blood where she was pressing the pillowslip against Maura's abdomen. The cotton slip had fallen out of the closet as the man had fled. It was pink, like everything else in the room, and absolutely useless at stopping Maura from bleeding. Jane threw it aside, where it landed with a wet slap on the floor, and she grabbed the towel Korsak held out to her instead. The towel felt better: thicker, more substantial, but the harder she pressed, the more blood flooded out, and it quickly became hot and heavy beneath her fingers.

"I don't…" She looked up at Korsak. "I don't know if I'm doing this right."

"Just keep pressure on it," he said, sounding as uncertain as she felt. "Keep pressure on it. They'll be here in a minute."

He covered Maura with a blanket from the closet, its cheerful rose pattern only emphasizing how pale she was. All the color seemed to have drained from her and her limp fingers were freezing cold when Jane squeezed them. The uneven rattle of her breathing filled the room.

"Ambulance is here." Korsak's voice startled Jane. She nodded, still pushing down, waiting for Maura to react, to move her hands away or at least tell her that she was doing it all wrong and correct her positioning. But Maura didn't flinch and Jane pressed harder as she listened to the footsteps pounding up the wooden stairs.

. . . .

_**6.14 p.m.**_

The paramedics had politely but firmly moved Jane aside. Working with quiet efficiency, they had inserted IVs, fastened an oxygen mask into place, and wrapped a thick padded dressing across Maura's abdomen. As instructed, Jane squeezed the bag of fluid she was holding, watching it stream into the line as the medics strapped Maura onto a gurney. They had only been in the room for a few minutes but they were already looking to leave.

"Can I ride with her?" Jane asked.

Neither of the men responded—they didn't even seem to have heard her—so she repeated her question, raising her voice above the crackle of radios, the creaking of the wooden floor, and Maura's labored gasps.

Poised to lift the thin metal gurney, the elder of the men shook his head. "Sorry, ma'am, there's not really enough room."

It was a lie and he lowered his eyes to stop Jane calling him on it. She knew what he was thinking, had spoken to enough paramedics to know that the one thing worse than their patient coding en route to the hospital was their patient coding en route in front of a loved one.

"I'll take you," Korsak said, handing his bag of fluid to the medic. "C'mon, give them some space here."

She tucked her IV under one of the straps, fumbling for Maura's hand but only succeeding in touching her fingers briefly. The medics almost ran down the stairs with their burden, and sirens were screaming before Jane had even reached the front door. Korsak put his arm around her shoulders and guided her out toward his car.

. . . .

_**8.00 p.m.**_

Jane folded her shirt neatly, taking care to try to preserve the evidence. She placed it into the paper bag alongside her pants and then peeled her underwear off. Her bra was sodden and when she looked down she saw a deep red stain covering her chest. She walked slowly into the toilet cubicle, knelt, and vomited until her stomach ached and there was nothing left inside her. The tiled floor was blissfully cold beneath her bare legs. Maura had only been in surgery for an hour but cops were already queuing to donate blood and hovering in the ER, waiting for news. Jane wrapped her arms around her knees, rested her head on them, and wondered how long she could stay like that before someone came to find her.

. . . .

_**11.00 p.m.**_

It wasn't that Jane wasn't listening, just that not much of what the surgeon was saying to her was really making sense. He was an older man with deep shadows beneath tired eyes and an accent that lilted in unexpected places. He used words like 'hypovolemic' and 'superior mesenteric artery', and Jane nodded, mentally noting them for later when Maura would be awake to explain what the hell he was talking about.

Maura had made it through the surgery. The surgeon had opened his monologue with that fact, and by the time the ringing in Jane's ears had faded she was playing catch up trying to understand the damage that the single stab wound had wrought. It had been bad, 'touch and go', there had been massive blood loss and lacerations to Maura's stomach and transverse colon. She was intubated, comatose, and settled in the ICU and Jane—being listed as her next of kin—got a golden ticket to her bedside.

Jane stood up when the surgeon did and began to follow him out of the waiting room. As she passed Korsak, he caught her in a bear hug and for a second she allowed him just to prop her up.

"Give the doc our love," he said.

"I will."

He left, then, to interrogate the seventeen-year-old who had murdered one woman and left a second fighting for her life. Jane turned in the opposite direction and headed for the ICU.

. . . .

_**11.50 p.m.**_

The nurse taking care of Maura had given Jane a long, appraising look before ushering her into a chair, covering her with a blanket, and supplying coffee and a sandwich.

"She's doing okay," he said, his hands careful as he checked the dressings swathed across Maura's abdomen. "Did Doc Fairley explain what's under here?"

"He, uh, well…" Jane shrugged. "He tried."

"Okay." The nurse tucked the sheets back into place and perched on the arm of Jane's chair. "She was bleeding out when she arrived and really the only way to deal with that in a time-critical patient is to cut. She has a wound from here," he pointed to the left of his own abdomen, "to here." His finger arced over to his right side.

Jane swallowed dryly. "Jesus."

"He located and repaired an arterial bleed and lacerations to her stomach and large intestine."

"Gonna hurt like hell when she wakes up." Jane spoke from experience, her hand unconsciously drifting toward the scar on her own abdomen.

The nurse gave her a curious look but didn't push and Jane didn't say anything else, didn't mention her self-inflicted injury or the hours Maura had spent by her side as she recovered. She wondered whether this was her penance; having to see Maura like this seemed to be an object lesson in 'what goes around comes around'.

"She's comfortable at the moment. You finish your sandwich," the nurse said kindly, somehow sensing that the conversation had come to an end. "I'm just over by the desk if you need me."

"Thank you." Jane waited for him to leave and then pulled her chair closer to the bedside. Maura's fingers were warmer when Jane took hold of her hand, and her face was no longer quite so deathly pale. Jane kissed her palm and settled in to wait.

. . . .

_**Tuesday: 3.15 a.m.**_

The numbers meant very little to Jane but she watched them anyway, having quickly established that red was bad and came with an alarm, and that amber was satisfactory. She had yet to see anything flash into green. Danny, the nightshift nurse, made frequent checks, changing fluids, emptying drains, and adjusting certain settings on medication pumps and the vent. He plied Jane with coffee, gave her chocolate from his own snack box, and at no point attempted to tell her to go home and get some sleep.

"Detective Rizzoli?"

She looked up as he approached.

"There's a call for you at the desk."

"Right." She automatically turned to Maura, but Danny came to stand by the bed.

"Go on, I'll keep an eye on her."

Jane's knees clicked loudly as she stood. She groaned, trying to work the kinks out of her back.

"You want a Tylenol chaser with your next coffee?" Danny asked.

"Yeah, maybe." She gave him a weary smile and hobbled over to the desk, where a nurse she didn't recognize handed her the phone and pressed a flashing button on the keypad.

"Rizzoli."

"Hey." Korsak sounded as exhausted as she felt. "How's she doin'?"

"Critical but stable." Jane sighed. "Whatever the fuck that means."

"Means she's hanging in there, I guess."

"I guess so. You making any progress?" She heard a faint rustle as if he was looking through his paperwork.

"Our bad guy is Thomas Argyle. Renowned crackhead in NYC, decided to put down new roots in Boston. Started crying like a baby within the first ten minutes of the interview, then owned up to this one and the West Roxbury job."

"That's good." Although she tried to sound enthusiastic, they both knew it was a hollow victory. She was on the verge of ending the call when Korsak spoke again.

"First officers on scene have also been interviewed. They both swore to checking that closet, but one later admitted he'd only opened the door closest to the wall, said he'd been afraid of disturbing the scene."

"Jesus Christ." Something in Jane's arm ached and she realized belatedly how hard she was gripping the phone. "Stupid fucking bastards."

"I know. They're gonna get written up for it."

"They should come down here and look at her, Korsak." Jane's voice cracked and tears slipped down her cheeks. "They should come down here and see what he did to her." She wiped her nose on her hand and then gratefully took the tissue the nurse held out. Korsak was stumbling through an awkward goodbye. She put him out of his misery by promising an update in a few hours and hung up.

"Thanks," she said to the nurse, and laughed dryly when the nurse offered her the rest of the box. "I think I'm good." She took a deep, steadying breath and walked back to Maura's bedside.

. . . .

_**5.55 a.m.**_

A team of doctors had ushered Jane into a small waiting room and left her there without telling her anything. Danny had finished his shift and the new nurse had been called to assist the medics with whatever they were doing. Maura had seemed better; most of her numbers were green and the dayshift nurse had been very impressed with something she had seen in one of the drains.

"Detective?"

Jane stood up so fast that she knocked her chair over.

"Is she all right?"

"She's fine," the nurse said, righting the chair for her. "She's asking for you."

The words didn't really make sense at first and Jane just nodded blankly.

Seeming to take pity on her, the nurse put a hand on her arm. "The doctors just took her off the vent. She's kinda drowsy but she'll know you're there."

Something in Jane's legs abruptly gave way and she sat down again. "She's awake?"

"On and off." The nurse smiled. "Take a minute, detective, then you can go see for yourself."

. . . .

_**6.00 a.m.**_

Despite the drugs that made it so difficult to stay awake and the pain that repeatedly caught her unawares, Maura smiled the instant she felt Jane squeeze her hand. It took her three attempts to move her fingers and two to open her eyes, but when she did, the expression on Jane's face made all the effort worthwhile.

"Hey, baby." Jane leaned down and kissed Maura. Her lips tasted salty where her tears were falling.

"Ssh, don't cry," Maura whispered. "I'm okay." Sleep was already pulling at her, blurring her vision and her speech. "Love you."

"I love you too," Jane said, and Maura allowed herself to lean back into the pillows and relax, no longer worried about the sutured rent across the width of her abdomen, or whether she would get an infection, or how long it would take her to recover.

"Hell of a day," she murmured.

"Yeah," Jane said. Her fingers stroked gently across Maura's forehead. "Yeah, it was one hell of a day."

. . . .

End

. . . .

And now for our regularly schedule pimpage for anyone who might be interested in reading some original f/f fiction by me… My first novel, _Snowbound_(written under the pen name Cari Hunter), is available to buy at Bold Strokes Books or over on amazon (where it's now out in Kindle!) \o/

There are links to my lj/author's blog and to a preview of the first chapter on my profile page.


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